I wrote about the Ankara bombing for the Huffington Post (I’m a Huffington Post blogger now!) because it really, really, really sucked. You can read it below, or here.
I was sleeping when Ankara city centre was hit by twin explosions just after 10am on the morning of October 10th. I woke up to a message from my boyfriend: “Two bombs have gone off near the train station. Looks like a lot of people dead. Might want to let your mum know you’re OK.” His office is metres from where the blasts tore through a crowd of peace protesters, hitting with such force that his whole building shook. My heart stopped as I read it, the air knocked out of me by the realisation that he might not have been OK, and that many people weren’t.
It’s a strange feeling to see the city you live in, a city so few people outside of Turkey seem to know much about – forgotten, as it is, under the shadow of the mighty Istanbul – as a disaster zone on TV news. Most Ankara residents had expected an attack at some point – violence was the flavour of the summer in Turkey after the uncompromising Justice and Development Party (AKP) failed to gain a majority in June’s elections. Snubbed by the pro-Kurdish People’s Democratic Party (HDP), who surpassed the 10% threshold in their first parliamentary elections, old tensions between the state and rebel group the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) flared up. As if that wasn’t enough acronyms to deal with, ISIS seemed to be advancing on Turkey, too, having already been held responsible for July’s deadly suicide attack in Suruc that killed 33 pro-Kurdish activists.
When an attack hits in such a vile and callous way, anticipated or not, it’s devastating. It’s not just another faceless, violence-afflicted place in the Middle East, you think, watching UK TV reporters explain what happened and imagining how others will see it. This is my home. The people cruelly targeted were not soldiers or rebels, they had gathered to protest the recent violence between the PKK and the state. As Turkish novelist Elif Safak wrote for the Guardian: “Innocent hearts beating for peace [were] brutally stopped”.
Pleas for blood donations flooded expat groups on social media. Once I’d gathered my thoughts and had some assurance it was safe to go out, I headed to Numune hospital, one of three treating the injured. I was unable to give blood – turned away on the grounds that I have not yet been in Turkey for three years – but was moved to tears to see how many people had come out to do what they could.
Soon, however, the mood turned. Frustrations were vented on one of the blood vans, which had stopped taking donations. Men screamed, lashing out at the van as a mob chipped and dented its sides before it could drive away. Anti-government chants aimed at President Recep Tayyip Erdogan spread quickly and the crowd swelled, blocking the road.
It’s easy to see why emotions are running high. The death toll currently stands at 102, with hundreds more injured. Many were young – teen activists, future MPs and a nine-year-old boy all lost their lives. The 20-year-old daughter of teacher Izzettin Cevik – whose image, blood spattered and cradling his injured, crying wife, became one of the defining images of the tragedy – died instantly.
With a second election in November looming, Turkey is on a knife-edge. The government, accused of harbouring an anti-democratic ‘deep state’ faction, is increasingly facing allegations of foul play and protests against them are commonplace. Just a few weeks ago, a former ISIS fighter told Newsweek that commanders had informed troops that the Turkish state was an “ally” and their forces would not bother them.
Yunus Emre Alagöz, the brother of the Suruc bomber, has been identified by Turkish authorities as one of the Ankara bombers and many more men with suspected links to Isis and the PKK have been arrested. Yet at the 10,000-strong protests against the blasts that swamped the streets of Istanbul that night and the mourning ceremony in Ankara the day after, similar anti-government songs could be heard: “Erdogan, murderer”, “police, murderers”. ISIS may be held accountable for the attack, but the people have their culprit. Whether they hold the government directly responsible, or blame them for failing to protect people, it doesn’t look good for Erdogan’s AKP. If they do somehow win their majority on November 1st – in the past, election rigging has often been suspected, with the state once even blaming an unruly cat – Turkey looks set for a rocky future.
I am haunted by the image of the girl I saw leave the hospital, no older than 21, her arms and legs bandaged and dried blood splattered across her clothes and brand-new Air Max. I think of all the people who died protesting for peace, while 5km away I did nothing but drool on my pillow. Yet despite all the heartache and uncertainty, life in Ankara goes on. People still buy food from the supermarkets and walk their dogs. Friends still meet for coffee, perhaps hugging for a few seconds longer as they greet.
The city is bruised, but not defeated.
Ankara fell victim to the very worst of humanity that day. In the people who queued to give blood, however, and those who gave everything to help the injured, I also saw the best. No matter what happens over the coming weeks, the Turkish people refuse to give into fear.
Nor should they.